In the midst of everything else this week, I manage to do this:
Since you probably don't have x-ray vision, it is a broken pinky finger on my right hand. Of course it involved sheep. And Dusty.
The good news is that Dusty didn't break his foot, which was another possible outcome.
The bad news is that the splint-and-bandage arrangement is driving me nuts.
For the record: yes, I can knit with it. But my gauge is all off, and so I end up taking the bandage off for an hour at a time to knit or write or cook dinner or anything else that needs doing in my life. Then my husband catches me and gives me heck and I put it back on until the next time I need to get something done.
I am hopeful that this break is more than just more bad luck. My fingers (well, not all of them, obviously) are crossed that this represents a symbolic break from the utter crap-fest that this summer has been, that it literally breaks the schneid that I have been under since the middle of July. I can't take much more, so perhaps this physical embodiment of the straw that broke the camel's back will do the trick.
I am willing to put the splint back on if someone can guarantee that will be the end result.